Morning Interludes
by kyrdwyn
Summary: How Grissom spends his mornings
1. Meetings

Morning Interludes - by kyrdwyn  
  
Rated PG-13 for adult themes and because I over-rate to save my behind should the story turn out different than from when it started.  
  
Synopsis: How Grissom spends his mornings  
  
Spoilers: Slaves of Las Vegas  
  
The only person in this story I can claim copyright to has no name. The rest belong to the companies and actors that make CSI. Hope you enjoy. kyrdwyn  
  
-----------------------------------------------------  
  
He was nervous about this meeting. He knew he needed an outlet after what had happened over the past few cases. The roller coasters hadn't been helping with the nightmares. Unable to sleep one night, he'd stopped by the one place where he hoped someone could tell him what was happening. The one person who had read beneath the lines he used to confuse others.  
  
Lady Heather had been surprised to see him. She'd offered him a drink outside on her patio. He hadn't said a word, but she'd known what was wrong. She offered him a solution, an outlet for the tensions he'd built up. One he'd be willing to accept. Not one of her girls -- he didn't need discipline or a dominant woman; rather, he needed something close to domesticity. A faÃ§ade of normalcy in a life spent among the dregs of humanity. So she'd given him a name, a phone number. A friend of hers, not a professional 'working girl', who offered what he needed without strings, without attachments, and without questions. A friend who, when Heather explained the situation and the man, agreed to a morning meeting.  
  
Her house was immaculate when he arrived at dawn. She was already awake, her table set for breakfast for two. China plates and crystal glasses gleamed in the light from the window, inviting him to sit down and relax. She handed him the morning paper and a cup of coffee. He smiled, thanking her. She was dressed in a simple green nightgown and robe, covering her down to her ankles. He could tell it was silk, but it wasn't anything fancy. It covered everything as she moved around her kitchen, pouring orange juice and removing the eggs from the skillet. She arranged everything on plates and carried them to where he sat at her dining room table.  
  
They ate in silence for the most part, broken only by words necessary to the meal. She was a good cook, he discovered. He'd had very little appetite for the past few weeks, but today he finished everything on his plate. He reluctantly declined a second helping, but complimented her on her cooking. She blushed attractively and rose to clear away the dishes. He got up, insisting on helping her. Her smile was tinged with pleasure and she gracefully gave in. Together they cleared away the remnants of the meal. When the kitchen was clean, he felt awkward, unsure. She smiled at him, taking his hand and leading him to another part of the house.  
  
Her bedroom was as unpretentious as she was. It was designed and decorated for comfort, he noticed. The king sized bed was covered in solid color cotton sheets, not silk or satin as he would have expected. The covers were turned down invitingly, the shades already drawn against the morning sun. Silk flowers sat on the dresser and nightstand, among the personal effects of the woman who was still holding his hand.  
  
She seemed to read the uncertainty of the situation in his eyes. Rather than leading him over to the bed, she led him through another doorway into her bathroom. It was a large room, with dual vanities across from a large garden tub set into a raised platform. A separate room held the commode, and her shower was a large area surrounded by tile and glass, an opening for the door. It was to there she headed, turning on the water. He moved closer to the shower, noticing that along the top of the tile wall, on the other side of the glass, she had a variety of soaps and shampoos for men. She caught his eye through the glass and blushed again. He smiled slightly.  
  
She came around to him, hands raised to help him undress. He accepted her help, amused by the way she neatly folded his clothing on the vanity. From a hidden closet in the wall, she produced a large towel and a bathrobe, hanging the towel on the rack and the bathrobe on a hook near the shower. Then she set a pair of cotton pajama bottoms on top of his clothes. She left him then, kissing him lightly on the cheek first.  
  
The water in the shower was hot enough to wash off the griminess of the night. He stood there for several minutes, his hands against the wall for support, as he leaned into the spray. He finally made use of her soap and shampoo, once again amazed at what hot water could do for a person's outlook.  
  
Turning off the water, he toweled off, enjoying the feel of the thick cotton. He carefully replaced the towel on her rack and picked up the pajamas and bathrobe. He slipped into them, and found a comb on her vanity. Once he was done, though, he stood there, uncertain. This wasn't what he was expecting. He had figured on something more physical. He almost hadn't come here this morning because he wasn't sure of the wisdom in that kind of relationship. She had surprised him, and now he was greatly unsure of what she was expecting from him.  
  
He finally returned to the bedroom to find that she had removed her robe and gotten into the bed. She was lying on her side, head propped on her hand. She had pulled the covers up to her waist, and she looked up from her book to smile at him.  
  
Feeling awkward again, he removed his robe and slid into the bed next to her. She had put her book on the nightstand and turned off the reading light, letting darkness reclaim the room. She turned back to him now, moving closer, laying next to him, her arm across his chest and her head pillowed against his shoulder. She didn't say a word or even seem like she was expecting anything from him.  
  
Gradually, he relaxed. It seemed natural to let his hand stroke her hair, so he did. Her hair was soft and silky, and he could feel her smile and sigh. After a while, he began to talk, telling her about him - his interests, his hobbies, even some of his work. He held back on a lot about his job, not wanting the darker side to touch this woman who was quietly listening and not asking for anything in return.  
  
As he spoke, he felt his restlessness, his unnamed fear of the unknown, begin to lift. He grew tired, sleepy, but didn't dread giving in. So he closed his eyes, not talking anymore. She moved even closer to him, one leg covering his, her mouth softly kissing the skin of his shoulder. He turned and kissed her forehead without opening his eyes. He drifted off to sleep.  
  
He awoke when the day was well advanced. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what felt different. Then he realized - no nightmares. He hadn't woken up in a cold sweat, convinced some nameless thing was after him. He hadn't tossed and turned for hours until he had exhausted himself to where he could sleep. He had simply fallen asleep and slept deeply and dreamlessly.  
  
She was still in his arms, still asleep herself. He looked down at her, feeling her breath against his skin. She sighed, moving closer to him, and his arms instinctively tightened around her, reassuring her he was still there.  
  
He didn't want to go anywhere, didn't want to leave this woman who worked magic with a simple smile and acceptance. 


	2. Acceptance

Morning Interludes - by kyrdwyn  
  
Rated PG-13 for adult themes and because I over-rate to save my behind should the story turn out different than from when it started.  
  
Synopsis: How Grissom spends his mornings  
  
Spoilers: Slaves of Las Vegas  
  
The only person in this story I can claim copyright to has no name. The rest belong to the companies and actors that make CSI. Hope you enjoy. kyrdwyn  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She was waiting for him, as usual. Ever since that first morning, when she'd been so understanding and so undemanding, she'd always seemed to know when he was stopping by.  
  
Though it had been months, their relationship hadn't progressed beyond that first day. She offered him breakfast, a hot shower, and a clean bed to sleep in - just sleep. She didn't ask for anything he wasn't willing to give. He accepted what she offered gratefully, still uncertain about this arrangement.  
  
One morning he'd awoken in her bed to find her missing. Disturbed, he'd gotten up and found her sitting on her couch, reading. He'd sat down next to her, peering at her book. She'd smiled and turned it so he could read it with her.  
  
He'd eventually asked her the question that had been on his mind since he'd woken up in her bed that first morning. Why did she do this for a living?  
  
She'd laughed then, smiling and shaking her head. This wasn't her job. She never asked for payment. She had a job, working from her home. This was something she did because she wanted to. She enjoyed having a gentleman in her home to talk to, to look after. Yes, she was discriminating in her companions - he was the first she'd opened her home to in months. Her last companion had wanted more than she was willing to give, so she had been reluctant to try again. Real relationships scared her, she didn't want commitment or romance. She just liked the company.  
  
He'd asked why she had let him into her home. She explained that she knew Lady Heather from some mutual friends. The two women had compared their relationships, realizing that the other woman would be better suited to some of their men. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Heather knew that she was hesitant about seeking a new companion, but had called her and told her about him. She'd been intrigued by her description of him, and agreed to meet with him. After that first night, she knew he needed her on some level, and she needed him to help her as well. Besides, she liked his company.  
  
He'd listened to this carefully, amazed again by her. Now he knew why Lady Heather had sent him to her house. She wasn't a professional; she wasn't looking for anything other than simple companionship. Something he hadn't realized he needed.  
  
This night had been a bad night for him. A bad case, co-workers who didn't understand his frustrations, and a painful resolution to the case had him dreading the nightmares again. He hadn't had one in so long, even when he didn't stop by her house. He was hoping her simple magic would help stave off the nightmares he knew were lurking in his mind.  
  
She sensed his unrest when she opened the door. She was wearing the green silk gown and robe she knew he liked. He could see the sympathy in her hazel eyes, and appreciated it.  
  
Coffee and breakfast were waiting for him, along with the morning paper - already opened to the crossword puzzle. He stood by the table, but exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
She noticed the look in his eyes and gently guided him toward her bedroom, and the bathroom beyond. He'd noticed that she'd learned his preferences, leaving only his shampoo and soap in her shower next to hers, a clean towel always waiting on the rack for him, and a pair of pajama bottoms neatly folded on the vanity for after his shower.  
  
He leaned against the vanity as she turned on the water for him. As she had that first morning, she helped him undress, folding his clothes for him. But unlike that first night, she disrobed, folding her nightgown and robe and placing them next to his clothing. She opened a drawer to remove a clip, pulling up her brown hair. She was as unselfconscious about her nudity as she was about his.  
  
Smiling at him, she took his hands and led him into the shower. The spray was just hot enough for him, and he closed his eyes as the heat rushed through him. He let himself stand there, feeling tense muscles relax. He knew she was still in the open shower with him, but he wasn't expecting the slick touch of her hands on his back as she gently washed it. Leaving his eyes closed, he relaxed more as her hands moved from his back to his buttocks, then away for more soap before returning to his shoulders and arms. As she moved down each shoulders and arm, her hands were caressing, and when she reached his hands she gave each finger special attention.  
  
She moved to the front, letting her hands wash his chest and abdomen. She didn't go lower, rather handing him the soap and turning her back to allow him privacy. He found it odd, but yet was appreciative. He placed the soap back on the holder and moved into the spray to rinse off, her hands helping to rub the suds and dirt away.  
  
Though he would have gotten out of the shower at that point, she picked up his shampoo and began working it through his damp hair. He closed his eyes, the feel of her fingers on his scalp was sending tendrils of frisson throughout his nerves. Vaguely, he tried to recall the last time a woman had washed his hair, and drew a blank. He wondered if one ever had.  
  
She gently guided his head into the spray and ran her fingers through his hair to rinse it. He sighed, finding it difficult to stay upright. When his hair had been rinsed, she turned off the water. He wanted to protest, feeling the need to return the favor, when she pressed a finger to his lips, smiling. She reached for his towel, drying his hair first before moving down to capture the water that ran in droplets and rivulets down his skin. He closed his eyes as the thick cotton caressed his skin. She finished drying him and tossed the towel over the rim of her tub before handing him his pajamas. As he got dressed, she dried herself off and slipped back into her nightgown. Her arm around his waist, she walked with him back into the bedroom, turning the sheets down for him. He gratefully sank into the mattress, reveling in the clean sheets. She didn't join him right away, rather moving back into the kitchen. Though he wanted to let himself fall asleep, he fought it as he listened to her move around in the kitchen, cleaning up from an uneaten breakfast. He felt vaguely guilty over wasting her food. He would have to take her out to dinner sometime to make up for it.  
  
He was almost asleep when she returned and slipped into the bed beside him. He turned and slid one arm under her head, using the other to pull her to him. He felt her sigh as she settled down against him, her hand covering his. He was asleep within seconds. 


	3. Turnabout

Breakfast was ready on the table. Coffee steamed in mugs next to glasses of orange juice and plates of eggs and toast and bacon. The newspaper was already open to the correct page.  
  
The only thing missing was her.  
  
Grissom checked his watch again. She was supposed to be back from her trip this morning. He missed her, more than he had expected to when she had told him she was going away on a business trip. He missed being able to stop by her home and see her in the mornings. Missed chatting with her about her work and his.  
  
She had given him a key to her home and asked him to stop by to water her plants while she was gone. Her flight information had been left on the table, so he knew when she would return. From her infrequent e-mails, he knew her trip was a rough one. He wanted to try to do for her what she did for him, offer a safe haven from the stress and cares of the outside world.  
  
The sound of a key in the lock made him turn and smile shyly as she entered her home, suit jacket over one arm, suitcase in her other hand. Her eyes immediately flew to the breakfast laid out on the table, and then to him. A slow smile crossed her lips as understanding bloomed in her hazel eyes. She set down the suitcase and tossed the jacket onto the couch. He handed her a cup of coffee and she sipped at it, settling herself down at the table, still smiling. He joined her and they ate in silence, both engrossed in their sections of the paper, both knowing that with them, discussion came later. Breakfast was always a pleasant silence.  
  
Though she wanted to help him clean up from breakfast, he wouldn't let her. So she remained in her seat, watching him. It made him a little nervous, but he managed not to drop anything.  
  
When he was done, he took her hands and led her into her bathroom, where he had already set out her nightgown. He turned on the water in her open shower and then helped her undress. He turned to leave the room and give her privacy when she stopped him, her eyes pleading for company. He smiled, knowing that he'd had that look more than once himself, so he undressed as she stepped into the shower.  
  
He joined her in the spray, surprised when she turned to lean against him, her arms slipping around his waist. He brought his arms up support her physically as she had done for him so many times emotionally. He heard her sigh over the rushing water. He reached out with one hand to pick up her soap.  
  
As she had done for him once before, he carefully washed her skin, cleaning off the aura of too many people in a too small space that he knew had to cling to her after her trip. Her eyes remained closed as he helped her rinse clean. He thought he heard a sound almost like a purr come from her throat.  
  
Her hair received the same careful attention. He used his fingertips to massage her scalp as he worked the shampoo through the brown strands. She was leaning against him more, apparently finding it difficult to stay upright. He made sure not to get the residue in her eyes as he let the water wash away the suds from her shampoo.  
  
He reached out to turn off the water, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. Surprised, he looked down at her. She smiled at him and leaned her head against his chest again. Her lips pressed a kiss to his skin. He slid his arms around her, holding her to him. Together, they stood under the spray, enjoying the closeness that they usually only had when asleep. Skin to skin, still awake, the awareness of each other was intensified. It was the first time in a long time, for him, and he wanted more. So he leaned his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes. It seemed like hours passed before the water began to turn cold. Reluctantly, he turned it off.  
  
Once out of the shower, he dried her hair and body, then helped her into her nightgown. She combed out her hair as he dried himself off and put on the pajama bottoms he wore while at her house. He reached for her hand and led her into the bedroom, lifting up the sheet and blanket on her side of the bed to make it easier for her to get in. As she settled herself into the mattress, he moved to the other side and slipped in next to her. She turned so she could rest her head against his shoulder, one arm lying warm across his chest and one leg intertwined with his. He stroked her hair and waited for her to talk, not waiting long. In a quiet, sleepy voice, she told him about her trip - the people, the places, the problems. He listened, smiling as her words became slower and finally stopped as her breathing settled into sleep. He turned his head to kiss her forehead, glad that for once, he was able to return the feeling of relaxation and peace she so freely provided to him. 


End file.
